A Ruined Paradise
by cheekymonkey8277
Summary: The Ring is destroyed, but pain still lives on in Middle Earth. When Arwen is attacked by rebel Orcs, old feelings resurface between Aragorn and Eowyn as their children form a special bond.
1. An Innocent Journey

The Third Age had begun seven years before, a peaceful reign in Middle Earth. The great King of Gondor, Aragorn son of Arathorn, proved a good king and ruler, and his wife Arwen, daughter of Elrond, was a fair queen. Their son Eldarion, born two years after the destruction of the Ring, was an intelligent boy full of vigor and goodness, and so much like his father all who saw him were reminded of their King. The boy's favorite playmate was the daughter of Faramir, son of Denethor, and Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, called Theodwyn in memory of Eowyn's dead mother, and often in the palace at Minas Tirith they played, and loved each other dearly.  
  
And so it was that Eowyn daughter of Eomund came to befriend the queen Arwen. Seeing their children play, they sat in the courtyard, sharing the tales of their children and their husbands, and as their children aged they loved each other more and more, for their bond was great. The King Aragorn was pleased, for he knew that Eowyn had once loved him, and knew now that she had placed her bitter feelings behind her. He saw Theodwyn and Eldarion chasing one another in the courtyard, hiding behind the White Tree of his ancestors, and felt a swell of pride at the sight of them. So when Arwen, his wife and the Queen, came to him asking to take Eldarion and Eowyn to Imladris, the home of her people, he consented, advising her to take the safest road to avoid the rebel Orcs that still plagued some of their borders.  
  
"Take some of the men with you, and guard yourself at all times," Aragorn warned her over the supper. "Do not stay long at Imladris; it is deserted, and we do not know who has taken it over. And besides, Master Samwise is to arrive in a month."  
  
"I will not stay long, my lord, but it is my wish for my son to see the land of his fathers. And the Lady Eowyn, for she has never known the beauty of the elven lands." Eowyn looked up gratefully from her place at the table, and looked at Faramir, smiling.  
  
"You have my blessing. When shall you depart?"  
  
"As soon as I may, my lord," Arwen replied. "I am most happy to be going back. Though my father has left to the land across the sea, part of him still remains in Rivendell, and it is my wish to visit the part of him that still is there."  
  
"Then we will have all assembled tomorrow."  
  
"Thank you, my lord."  
  
Eowyn looked up from her place across the table. "I will have a restless night, Queen, if the promise of Rivendell haunts my thoughts!"  
  
"Are you sure Theodwyn should stay here?"  
  
"She is too young. Eldarion is a full year her senior, and I do not think Theodwyn will fully appreciate Rivendell," Eowyn responded. "And she is disobedient; I am unwilling to bring her on a trip. She will stay here."  
  
Arwen looked to Aragorn, smiling. "So it is settled, then? We will leave tomorrow and be back in a fortnight."  
  
For some reason, Aragorn felt troubled, but said nothing. He was restless about his wife going into the world alone...the rebel Orcs were not entirely under control yet, as all efforts had gone to rebuilding Osgiliath in its disrepair. He had also been planning expeditions to Mordor, to make sure that nothing was going awry, and he felt that his concentration had drifted from the borders of his land. Kind Eomer of the Riddermark had said that the Orcs had not disturbed Rohan, so perhaps Aragorn was just being overly protective. He was wrenched from his thoughts when Eldarion bounded into the room and demanded in an angry voice, "Where's Théodwyn?"  
  
Arwen laughed merrily and stood, and took Eldarion by the hand and led him towards the exit of the Hall. "She's asleep, Eldarion," Aragorn heard her say to the boy. "Now let's go upstairs and follow her example. Elanor...could you put him into bed..."  
  
Faramir stood. "King, excuse us, we must retire," he said, and reached down for Eowyn's hand. She took it, and stood up beside him.  
  
"I will see you in the morning," Aragorn replied, smiling, and rose. Eowyn bowed her head toward him, as did Faramir, and they left the Hall hand in hand. Aragorn looked to the door, where Arwen stood, watching him with a smile.  
  
"Come to bed, my lord, you are weary with the Osgiliath plans..."  
  
He walked towards her and kissed her. "I could never be happier, my Queen. These are truly the best days any man could ever know." 


	2. Winter in Rivendell

They had traveled for a week, and had had a simple and easy journey. Arwen had enlightened the entourage with tales of the elves and their cities; Eldarion had amused them with demanding questions and spontaneous actions. Eowyn, however, had spent the journey recollecting her life before Arwen daughter of Elrond had wed Aragorn, King of Gondor, and before Aragorn had been made King, and as they approached Imladris, envy gnawed at her every thought. The night before they set eyes on Rivendell, Eowyn had not gotten any sleep. Instead, she had spent it tossing and turning and clutching her arm, which had never fully healed since she had defeated the Witchking...  
  
It was a melancholy and murky day when the weary travelers approached Rivendell. The sun hid behind gray clouds, and the deserted city shone white in the eerie light. It was overwhelmingly cold; numb hands grasped the horses' bridles as the entourage approached their destination.  
  
Eowyn tugged on her horses' reins, forcing her to the right. The mare was beautiful; named Luthien, for the elf, and one of the king's noblest and finest steeds. Luthien was descended from the finest elven horses, and had received the finest training from the Rohirrim. The horse was a somber and quiet, nothing like the spirited stallion Eowyn had ridden faithfully since the Battle of the Pelennor, but the King had insisted, and she was no one to deny the King's wishes. She bit her lip as a familiar thought rushed through her head. She was always held back, always denied...  
  
"Eowyn?"  
  
Arwen's kindly voice urged her from her thoughts, and Eowyn looked to her left. Arwen was smiling, despite the cold.  
  
"Yes, Lady?" She responded, attempting a smile through chapped lips.  
  
"You look preoccupied. Does something trouble you?"  
  
"No, I assure you, I am content," Eowyn replied quickly, and nudged Luthien forward. Resentment washed over her: Arwen, the beautiful elven queen, who they said was the fairest Middle Earth had ever seen, and with an unwavering good heart and good will. And it was she who had married Aragorn. She shook herself mentally, reminding herself that she was married to a good man who loved her and had a child worth ten million Aragorns.  
  
But still she was troubled, and as the entourage moved onwards, she felt a raw pang at her throat. She suddenly felt very, very cold. She looked over her shoulder, where Eldarion rode with his nurse, covered in warm woolen blankets, looking down into the valley with wide, amazed eyes. Somehow, this brought Eowyn comfort: seeing the boy, her child's best friend, reinforced that she did, in fact, have much to be thankful for.  
  
They now approached the bridge. It was intact, and showed no sign of age or decay. Eowyn was hesitant to cross it, but Arwen leaned forward eagerly. "This is Imladris, or Rivendell as it is known to your kin," she spoke with a voice that sounded centuries old, an air of knowledge and the will to pass the knowledge on to the ignorant. "Down there," the Queen continued, gesturing down to the river below. "That is where the power of the elves was gathered to keep the Nine from Frodo when he was in mortal peril." Her gaze moved upwards to a building. "The Council of Elrond was held there." She paused, and surveyed the city again. "It is barren," she whispered. "My people have gone."  
  
Eowyn felt a stab of pity, but it was vanquished as Arwen reared her horse and turned to face the party. "Elanor, I want Eldarion in front of me," she reached out towards him, and Elanor handed the boy to the Queen. Arwen placed the boy in front of her with care, and reached for the reins. Smiling, she urged the horse forward and it galloped across the bridge. Eowyn nudged Luthien onto the bridge, walking deliberately and slowly. She emerged under the shadow of dead, skeletal trees and empty buildings.  
  
"Is this your home, Mother?" Eldarion asked in wonder.  
  
"It was," Arwen replied quietly. Eowyn heard the sudden sorrow in Arwen's voice, and pity flooded back. She lightly tapped Luthien's sides and halted next to Arwen, and looked sideways towards her.  
  
"It's beautiful, Lady."  
  
"Yes, it is," Arwen replied. "It is...unsettling to see Imladris in this state. It...pains me. It was so warm and happy when I lived here...and now it is forsaken. My people are gone, and with it, their cities."  
  
"Has the same happened to Lothlorien?"  
  
"I almost fear going back to the land of my mother's kin, seeing the state of Imladris," Arwen replied.  
  
Eowyn could not think of a suitable reply. Silently, she gazed at the pathway, layered with dead gray leaves, and the dead white trees, and the glowing buildings, long abandoned.  
  
"When I was here, the leaves fell, and everywhere there was a cool, knowing autumn...now, it seems, the place has fallen under winter's spell."  
  
"I am sorry."  
  
"I cannot tell whether or not it was a mistake to come," Arwen's horse trotted forward slowly. And she snapped. The horse galloped forward over the pathway as it ascended towards the top of the city. Confused for only a second, Eowyn regained her composure and urged Luthien forwards. Passing building after building, ghosts of the past echoed misery. She reached a courtyard where Arwen dismounted, pulling off her cloak, and placing Eldarion at her feet, looking around the courtyard with a grim, set face.  
  
"Eowyn..." she whispered as Eowyn reared her horse beside the Queen. "Will you take Eldarion? I need a few moments to myself."  
  
Eowyn received the boy from Arwen and placed him in front of her. He kicked in protest, and Eówyn reprimanded him. Pouting, Eldarion crossed his arms and consented.  
  
Eowyn pulled the horse's reins back and Luthien backed up, and turned left as Eowyn rejoined the group.  
  
"Let her have peace. The Queen suffers from memories," she said quietly. "Stand guard 'round her, however. We know not what dwells here."  
  
"I want my mother," Eldarion muttered beneath his many blankets.  
  
"Shh," Eowyn replied under her breath. "She needs a moment's rest. Meanwhile, how would you like to see some of your heritage?"  
  
Eldarion nodded resentfully. Eowyn kissed him on the cheek affectionately.  
  
"Where are you going?" Asked one of the men as Eowyn turned Luthien towards one of the smaller pathways.  
  
"I am going to explore," Eowyn replied tartly, and sent Luthien down the path, Eldarion in her arms.  
  
* * *  
  
All my reviewers: Thank you for the reviews. It encouraged me to keep on going, knowing my work is appreciated!!! Thanks so much...tell me what you think of this one! 


	3. Womanly Woes

Dusk was approaching: what little sun there was left was fading in the west. Eldarion was in the courtyard, his shrieks of mirth echoing as he was chased by an eager nurse. Arwen stood in the arched window, watching him. Eowyn paused in the doorway. A cold wind blew, ruffling Arwen's raven black hair, and a chill went down Eowyn's spine, lingering in the frigid air. She said nothing, holding in a breath, as Arwen turned and gave her a sad smile.  
  
"My lady," Eowyn said formally, bowing her head. Her hair fell from her shoulders; she pushed it back impatiently as she rose.  
  
"Eowyn."  
  
Arwen walked forward and grasped Eowyn by the hands. It was a kind gesture, but it made Eowyn feel uncomfortable.  
  
"Do you like it?" Arwen asked.  
  
"There is much to like, my lady," Eowyn replied politely, willing the queen to let her go.  
  
"You are being evasive. I am asking you if you like it."  
  
Eowyn paused. "In many ways, yes, my lady. But..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"It makes me sad."  
  
"Yes, it has that effect on me as well," Arwen smiled. "You should have seen it in its glorious days...it was once alive, and beautiful."  
  
"I do not doubt that," Eowyn replied.  
  
Arwen let go of her hands, and turned away, walking back to the window. "You have been distant and sorrowful on this journey, Eowyn. Do not deny it..." Arwen said quickly just as Eowyn opened her mouth to contradict her. "I can see it in your eyes."  
  
Eowyn looked up at the ceiling, prying her mind for words. "I miss my daughter and husband."  
  
"I see," Arwen replied quietly.  
  
"If it is not too bold to say..." Eowyn began, "You seem mournful as well, my lady."  
  
Arwen laughed. Eowyn almost felt happy to see the Queen smile again, but the feeling soon subsided.  
  
"It is not too bold to say, Eowyn. And I demand that you cease your formalities. We are friends, my dear Lady Eowyn."  
  
Eowyn felt a smile at her lips. "You are evading my question, Lady."  
  
"Yes, I am," Arwen smiled, and sighed. "This was my home, not too long ago...and still memories fill my mind...I miss my father, and my people..." She closed her eyes. "I can almost hear my brothers calling my name," she leaned against the wall of the arched window, her back to Eowyn. "Sometimes I wonder if my decision...to forsake my people, and marry Aragorn, was the right one."  
  
Eowyn felt offended by this, and bit her lip to suppress her anger.  
  
"And then I see Eldarion, and remember how happy I am. I suppose I am just restless, being here again."  
  
Eowyn tore her gaze from Arwen. These indecisive words made Eowyn wonder what would have happened if Arwen had gone with her elven father. If Aragorn would have married her...and then, with a pang of guilt, she remembered Faramir. She loved him dearly, though in a very different way. She loved him for loving her. He treated her as an equal. He was a good man: good to her, good to Theodwyn, good to all around him. Yet she still had feelings for Aragorn, and she could not suppress them, no matter how much she loved Faramir. She looked up at Arwen, and guilt swept over her. Arwen was good to her as well; respected her and treated her as a friend, despite her inferior status. Oh yes, and the fact that Arwen probably knew Eowyn had loved her husband. Arwen was looking at her pointedly.  
  
"I suppose you are indeed restless, my lady," Eowyn said quietly.  
  
"Yes, restless," Arwen said quietly, as if trying to convince herself it were true, and took a deep breath. "I have something I think you will enjoy."  
  
Arwen crossed the room towards bookshelves lining a wall. "This was my father's library," she continued, as her glove hands ran over the titles. "I was surprised he did not give them to anyone before leaving, but he has employed some of our magic to keep them preserved, and untouched."  
  
Eowyn waited in the doorway, not knowing quite what to say. She heard a shriek of delight from the courtyard, and couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Here," Arwen said with satisfaction as she pulled a volume from the shelf. She walked to where Eowyn stood, and pressed the book into her hands. "A complete history of Rohan, from the beginnings of your kingdom to the coronation of your brother, the King Eomer. It was completed shortly after the Ring was destroyed, by my father himself," she opened it, and flipped to the last few pages, where an elaborate script met Eowyn's gaze. "It is in the Common Tongue, so you will be able to read it...Here you are. A detailed account of your defeat of the Witchking."  
  
Eowyn looked at her in disbelief. "I'm in it?"  
  
Arwen laughed. "Of course you are! You are the fair Shieldmaiden of Rohan, and all will know your name henceforth...revere you, one might say, for it is no ordinary feat to kill one that cannot be killed by the hand of man. If you are prepared to be revered, that is."  
  
"I think I'll be able to handle it," said Eowyn. "This is a wonderful gift, if only I could give you something in return..."  
  
Arwen shook her head. "Though if you will help me to persuade my husband to bring the books back to Minas Tirith, I would be much obliged."  
  
"I would be honored. With the contents of this library, Minas Tirith would be the grandest collection in the world."  
  
"Good. I am glad to hear it."  
  
There was a silence, broken by shouts from the courtyard.  
  
"Mother! Mother!" Cried Eldarion. Arwen and Eowyn exchanged a smile.  
  
"I will go down to him. Will you join me?" Asked Arwen.  
  
"If you don't mind, I would like to begin the book."  
  
"Of course you may. When you are done, please, do join us."  
  
Eowyn bowed her head as Arwen left, her cloak billowing behind her as her footsteps faded into the distance.  
  
* * *  
  
To all my reviewers:  
  
Eregriel Gloswen, Starbrow, flipperjlw, Aerlinnuial, and Mercury Gray:  
  
Thank you so much for the critiques—I really appreciated them. I hadn't realized at all how much I was screwing up the accents...so thanks for telling me! I've removed them, so I don't make anymore offsetting mistakes. About my language, I'm just trying to incorporate Tolkein into it a little bit, lay the foundation for my story. It's always fun to write with the whole son ofs and daughter ofs and elaborate language, but I'm going to keep reverting to my normal self, hopefully making a successful blend. You'll have to tell me if I've succeeded in that.  
  
Just a note: I believe Arwen is a really great elf and all that, but she doesn't do anything. She's not even in the goddamn original Tolkein story. That's why I appreciate PJ giving her a little bit of the action, you know, saving Frodo. And apparently they filmed a few battle shots with her at Helms Deep. But the other parts of the movie she's just—and I'm sure she was like this in the behind-the-books sense—pining for Aragorn and being all mournful and what should I do? And Eowyn's out there, kicking the Witchking's evil butt and actually trying to get out of the conform-to- womanhood-Rohan-incentive. And I hated how, in the movie, they completely cut out the Eowyn-Faramir love affair. Because, if you're going to have Eowyn so in love with Aragorn, you better show that she doesn't get left with a broken heart! I wish they had cut the whole Arwen-pining-for-Aragorn thing and put in Eowyn and Faramir. But they didn't. And that made me mad. And I still think Eowyn and Aragorn are a much better match, but I digress. I shall quit my little tangent now. Shuddup, me, shuddup.  
  
Anyway, tell me how you like this one and I am so glad you enjoyed it!  
  
Later, Cheekymonkey (the one and only) 


	4. The Desire of the Queen

On the third day in Rivendell, Eowyn woke in her chamber to warmth. It was not exactly what one would call warm, but nevertheless warmer than the previous day. She pushed off the many blankets and stood. The morning sun was bright and warm on her face. She retrieved her cloak from the end of the bed and walked to the door. Opening it, she heard footsteps down the hall. She quickened her pace and walked towards them.  
  
It was one of the accompanying guards. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes and a greying beard. Eowyn knew he went by the name of Castimar, but she had exchanged few words with him. He bowed his head to her, and she returned the gesture.  
  
"Lady."  
  
"Castimar." She replied courteously. "Where is the Queen?"  
  
"She has gone down to the river with Eldarion, my lady."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Eowyn walked down the hall, crossed the courtyard, nodding briefly to some of the guards, and to where Luthien was tied to a tree. The horse reared her head when Eowyn came into view, tugging against the rope, eager for freedom.  
  
"And how have you been, Luthien?" Eowyn took the horse's nose into her hand, and scratched her ears gently. "We're going down to the river. I assume you'd like a drink?"  
  
Luthien whinnied. Taking it as a consent, Eowyn mounted her, tapped her lightly in the sides, and directed her down the pathway.  
  
She arrived at the river soon enough. The pebbles shifted under Luthien's feet. Arwen was sitting with Eldarion at the riverbank, pointing at the sky. She turned as she heard Eowyn approach, smiled, and stood up.  
  
Eowyn dismounted and walked to Arwen.  
  
"You!" Eldarion hid behind his mother's long robe.  
  
"Yes, me," Eowyn couldn't help smiling, and bent down to Eldarion's level. He peeked out from behind his shelter, and seeing Eowyn, quickly hid again.  
  
"Oh, good god, be cordial, Eldarion," Arwen sighed, pulling Eldarion from behind her.  
  
Eldarion emerged from behind Arwen's skirts, and said in a barely audible voice, "Lady."  
  
"Young prince," Eowyn said, inclining her head, feeling as if she might laugh. "I just woke, and Castimar said you had gone to the river."  
  
"Yes, Castimar was right. I am here." A smile flirted on Arwen's lips. "I always loved this river."  
  
"And now?"  
  
Arwen paused. "I still love it. As does Eldarion," she looked down at her son with pride. "Rivendell and him seem to have made a good impression upon one another."  
  
Eowyn smiled in agreement. "I don't think he'll be inclined to leave it."  
  
"No?" Arwen raised her eyebrows. "No, I don't think he will. What do you think, Eldarion? Will you be happy to leave Rivendell?"  
  
"No," Eldarion replied decidedly.  
  
"There you are, Eowyn, you were correct. And he has planted a seed of thought in my mind."  
  
Eowyn looked inquisitively at the Queen.  
  
"Walk with me," Arwen asked.  
  
Eowyn fell into step beside Arwen as they walked back towards the gleaming city, and the Queen began to speak.  
  
"What would you think, Eowyn, if Rivendell was renewed? Its libraries used, its pathways echoing with footsteps, and laughter? Would it be an act of heresy against my father and his legacy? Or would it be one of the processes of renewal and rebirth that Middle Earth is going through right now?"  
  
Eowyn stopped walking, and looked at Arwen in a sort of shock. "Rehabilitate Rivendell?"  
  
"If you would like to call it that, then yes," Arwen said, suddenly looking nervous.  
  
Eowyn paused, considering it. "I would call it one of the best things that has happened since the ring was destroyed."  
  
Arwen laughed. "Of which there are many, dear Eowyn. But if it could happen...I long to see this place alive...I will propose it on our immediate return to Minas Tirith. I do not think my husband will deny me."  
  
Eowyn smiled. "It is good to see you smiling, Queen."  
  
"Please, Eowyn, abandon your silly formalities and call me Arwen."  
  
"Of course. Arwen," Eowyn added hastily.  
  
"Thank you, that suits me much better. Eldarion..." Arwen turned to her son, who was arranging pebbles haphazardly around his mother's feet. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm making you a shrine."  
  
They exchanged a look and laughed. "Come on, Eldarion. Aren't you hungry?"  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
"Then let's walk back."  
  
Arwen and Eowyn walked alongside each other in silence for a few minutes, Arwen watching Eldarion with sharp eyes and Eowyn leading Luthien by the bridle.  
  
"You are skilled with horses," Arwen remarked.  
  
"Thank you. I learned when I was young. Your husband is the miracle worker, however, not I."  
  
"They always seem to take a liking to him, don't they?"  
  
"Yes, they do indeed."  
  
"You speak very affectionately about my husband."  
  
Eowyn looked sideways towards the Queen, whose eyes were cast downwards. She pulled Luthien uncomfortably, not knowing what to say.  
  
"You are very fond of him."  
  
Eowyn could not deny it. "Yes, I am," she murmured. "He has done much for me."  
  
Arwen was silent for a few moments. "He is a good man."  
  
"Undoubtedly so."  
  
The tension in the air was very thick. Eldarion cut it by bounding up to his mother and demanding for her hand. Arwen occupied him by asking the boy to fetch her a flower.  
  
"You are a good woman, Eowyn," Arwen said as Eldarion bounded up the path. "You will do the right thing."  
  
Eowyn didn't exactly understand what Arwen meant, and so she remained silent.  
  
Arwen stopped walking and turned to face her. "Promise me, that if anything should happen to me, you will look after my son."  
  
"Lady, that is granted, but nothing will happen to you," Eowyn replied earnestly.  
  
"Thank you," Arwen began to walk again. "Go tell Castimar to assemble the men. We will leave at first light tomorrow."  
  
"Yes, my lady," Eowyn said, and mounted Luthien. "I will tell him immediately." Luthien trotted forward.  
  
"And Eowyn?" Called Arwen from behind her.  
  
Eowyn reared the horse and turned back.  
  
Arwen was smiling. "Don't forget your book."  
  
* * *  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Heeheehee! What I said certainly got a response, didn't it? Controversy, controversy! I'm having way too much fun with this, I had no idea fanfic could be this fun. And everyone's different ideas. Wow. My email was literally flooded. I enjoyed reading everyone's different critiques, both compliments and objections. I'm not going to reveal my entire story to you now (unfortunately) but there is going to be some Eowyn-Aragorn sexual tension, just like in my summary. Because I think that Eowyn is a much better match for Aragorn. But don't get me wrong. I like Arwen. If you look closely at my story, I portray Arwen is a beautiful person, and Eowyn loves her as a friend, though Eowyn is having problems with her jealousy of Arwen and her guilt for loving Aragorn. Arwen's wise and pretty and Aragorn really does love her, I think, but Eowyn's the more interesting person, because of her inner demons and what not. Firstly, Eowyn did ride to battle in a semi-death-wish, not like she was really LOOKING for death but she felt that, if she died, at least she would have renown. All her feelings of being shut up, and loving Aragorn, etc., were making her go crazy. But the end of Return of the King shows her happy and fulfilled with Faramir, and at a point in time where she has realized that running away from one's problems isn't the way to solve them. My story is about after the happily- ever-after. She still does have feelings for Aragorn, and because of her friendship with Arwen, she feels conflicted about it. She feels horrible about her feelings for Aragorn too, because she has a husband and a beautiful child, both of whom she loves dearly. 'Cause life ain't never perfect, and we all know that.  
  
END OF TANGENT. I DIGRESS AGAIN.  
  
Appreciating the critism...thanks to all my reviewers! 


	5. On the South Road

Four days and three nights they had traveled, navigating by stars and the sun, crossing Dunland on the South Road, which would soon turn into the Gap of Rohan. Eowyn had asked whether she could visit her brother at Edoras, as they had taken the alternative route on the way up, following the southern side of the White Mountains.  
  
"I am inclined to visit the King Eomer, your brother, for he is a good man," Arwen had replied.  
  
But would they? Arwen had revealed nothing in her answer. She made a good politician, giving an unquestionable reply that revealed no answer. Yet it made Eowyn nervous.  
  
They had been traveling on an open path. They could be seen for miles, and this also made Eowyn nervous. A steep hill, almost cliff-like, rose up on her left; above it, she presumed, would be a long field covered in sweet-smelling flowers. She longed to climb up it and see the landscape, which reminded her so much of her homeland.  
  
Eldarion was restless in his mother's lap; noon was approaching, and he was hungry and tired and irritable, and he kept hitting the horse with stubborn fists. Eowyn smiled despite herself. He was enchanting when he was upset, as long as he wasn't upset with her.  
  
"I think it is time for luncheon, Lady," she told the Queen.  
  
Arwen looked up at her blankly, as if she had been torn from some thought. The Queen had been looking preoccupied for the past few days, and had been very jumpy. She even looked tired as she glanced up at the sky and nodded her head in assent.  
  
As they dismounted, Arwen sought Eowyn from where she was taking out her rations. "Eldarion is restless. Will you take him to get some flowers for me? I would enjoy them, and Eldarion will enjoy getting them."  
  
Eowyn had no choice. "But of course, my Lady."  
  
"Up there," Arwen gestured up the hill. "It will be difficult, but I daresay you may enjoy the experience. You've been stealing glances up there all day, Lady Eowyn. Don't deny it."  
  
Eowyn smiled gratefully.  
  
"I will expect you in three hours. The horses are tired, they need rest. I do as well, Eldarion had been most trying."  
  
"Shall I take..."  
  
"Do not take his nurse. She is weary of him as well. He is a demanding child, perhaps I indulge him too much..." Arwen sighed. "Go, now, before Eldarion makes a fuss."  
  
"I will."  
  
Then Arwen embraced her. She paused for a moment, and returned the gesture. It was kind and friendly, at first overly uncomfortable but soon Eowyn appreciated it. Arwen pulled back, gave her a weak smile, and walked towards the ensemble, issuing orders. She paused next to her son, and reached down and hugged him, kissing him on the forehead, her lips lingering on his princely skin. She bent over and whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, and she pushed him in Eowyn's direction. Arwen nodded to her, and Eowyn returned the gesture. When Eowyn looked up, Arwen had turned away.  
  
"Eldarion! Come with me!" Eowyn grasped the boy by the hand, and reached for Luthien's reins.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To pick some flowers for your mother. Come on, we'll eat once we're on top of the cliff," she replied, and began to climb up.  
  
"It's too steep!" Cried Eldarion.  
  
"The trick," Eowyn said, pulling Luthien along behind her as Eldarion bounded in front, "is to go sideways across the hill. That way, it won't be too trying."  
  
Eldarion looked back and gave her an angry stare. "I knew that," he said, and began climbing up.  
  
It was an effort, but when Eowyn finally reached the top, she was content. The view was beautiful. Far off in the distance, she could see the river Isen. Below her, the troupe had formed a circle, and she could hear them talking. Arwen looked up, and Eowyn waved her hand once. Arwen smiled. She almost looked sad. Eowyn narrowed her eyebrows in concern, but Arwen had, again, turned from her. Brushing it off lightly, she reached for Eldarion's hand, and pulled him up.  
  
* * *  
  
They had wandered across the plain, over a hill, and were now moving slowly back. Eowyn now sat in the hot sun, leaning against the grass, her book propped on one knee. She was reading it for the second time, and had just begun reading of Eorl's quest to avenge his father. Seeing it as a good stopping place, she put down the book and looked at Eldarion, who was bent down over a flower some three meters to her left.  
  
"Is it pretty, Eldarion?" She called.  
  
He looked up, nodded, and plucked it, running over to display his treasure.  
  
"Ah!" She exclaimed, and took it from him. "It's very pretty. And an uncommon color for these fields. What color is it, Eldarion?"  
  
"Red. Like blood."  
  
She frowned. It had a tinge of orange, more vermilion, not like the dark liquid. It was a poppy. She played with it in her fingers, contemplating what to say.  
  
"It's more orange, Eldarion, not like blood."  
  
"No. It's red. Like blood," Eldarion said defiantly.  
  
The boy refused to admit he was wrong. Eowyn sighed and handed it back to him. "We'll see what your mother says. You've assembled a beautiful bouquet, Eldarion. I'm sure she'll be pleased."  
  
Eldarion smiled smugly. He was obviously immensely pleased with himself.  
  
She stood, stretching, and walked towards Luthien. "Would you like to head back now?" She asked Eldarion, placing the book in the saddlebag.  
  
"No. I want to stay here," Eldarion replied. "I like it here."  
  
Eowyn turned around. She felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. She wanted to go back. She almost felt as if she needed to. She bent down towards his level. "I do too, Eldarion, but I'm sure your mo—"  
  
She stopped, listening.  
  
"What is it?" Eldarion demanded.  
  
"Shh," Eowyn hushed him. She looked back towards Luthien, who was suddenly tense, and moving back and forth anxiously. It was all she needed to panic. She grabbed Eldarion and tore across the field as fast as she could, her hair whipping back as Eldarion bounced in her arms. He was heavy. Her legs began to burn in effort, and her blood pounded in her ears.  
  
She finally recognized the noise. People were screaming, shouting; swords were clashing. Eowyn ran faster; her throat began to burn. She collapsed at the beginning of the cliff, and when she looked up her fast breaths caught in her throat. Below her was an ambush. Fifty orcs closed in on four small figures; Arwen was one of them, wielding her sword, her hair twirling around her head. The rest of the camp lay dead, the orcs on the outskirts seemed to be investigating them, taking their swords and shields. Memories flashed before Eowyn's eyes, insuppressable...riding across the Pelennor Fields with Merry before her, striking down on them, killing the enemy...she had not seen an orc for ten years...  
  
When Eowyn finally fell back into the present, Eldarion was out of her arms and running down the hill. She cried out and flung herself after him, picking him up as he screamed at her, kicking at her...she pulled him up and threw him on top, holding him down as he bit her arm in protest.  
  
"Mother!" He cried.  
  
She looked down and fear clutched at her throat. The scavenging orcs had heard Eldarion's cries over the clamor of the battle, and now had seen them. She watched in horror as they began to scale the hill. There was no time to think. She had to protect Eldarion. She had to protect the son of the king...  
  
She stood, a grim resolution on her face. Eldarion's sobs were muffled by her skirt. She turned, and her heart stopped. Eldarion followed her gaze, and let out a high-pitched scream.  
  
In front of her was an orc.  
  
He was smiling. 


	6. Everything to Lose

He stood menacingly, a black iron blade held in his gruesome hand. She had never remembered them this tall. Standing before her, with a mocking smile and grand stature both wide and tall, she felt fear rising in her body, and it ceased to move, too feel...she could not remember a time when she had been able to feel, to move...she stood motionless. Somewhere at her feet, Eldarion cowered in fear, a great shadow hovering over him as the orc blocked out the sun, and slowly took a step forward, advancing. Her heart pounded against her chest; the chaos of the battle below lingered 'round her ears; yet inside her it was immensely quiet, as if a great hand had stopped the wheels of time to mock her fate.  
  
And it was Eldarion who pried her back into consciousness; his desperate wailing registered in her mind, and with it she hearkened to reason, to duty. To protect the young prince, the boy that would be king. She had a sword, sheathed in her belt, and she knew how to use it. And use it she would, for her country, for her king. A promise of valor echoed in her ears; this was how she had felt all those years ago. Despite the time that had withered her, she felt the young, restless shieldmaiden of Rohan draw her sword, and stand before the orc in superiority, in a thrilling readiness for battle, readiness for death and renown. This time she was fighting for something different. As much as she felt obligated to defend Eldarion, she fought to see Theodwyn again, her flesh and blood, and her husband, and the King. If she died, she would never see them again. The boy cowering at her feet only reminded her of this. And so she stood tall, poised, her sharp blade in her one good hand.  
  
"Run, Eldarion," she whispered. "Run to Luthien, and wait for me."  
  
The boy did not object. In alternate circumstances, she would have been overjoyed for the boy's compliance; but now she stood before her enemy as her heart pounded in steady beats, her eyes boring into the orc's. His eyes did not flicker to the running Eldarion, but remained on her in an attempt to boast his superior size and armor, and how he would be the one to prevail. He was met by a steady determination; her light eyes shone clear against his dark shadow, defiant, she prepared herself for him to strike and knew victory was to be at her hand.  
  
With a howl he charged at her; her body tensed as she reached up to parry the blow. The impact sent a shock through her body, and she staggered backwards. Pain shot up her arm, and she looked up at the attacker, who still had the smug smile upon his gruesome face. This was nothing like fighting at Minas Tirith with light foils and graceful, rule-abiding thrusts and parries; this was a fight for her life, and for Eldarion's. To lose this battle would be at a great cost. Her confidence disappeared in the single blow; the shadow over her was one of fear, and now she was at a loss of what to do. Doom was imminent...Arwen had died, and so would she...defeated after a single stroke, she stared up, dumbfounded.  
  
Eowyn.  
  
Something brought her hope before her eyes again; the call of her uncle, of Theoden...she had faced a similar, greater evil, and now she was to succumb to the bitter evil housed in Mordor that had plagued Middle Earth since Morgoth had first employed the lands for his wickedness. It was dishonorable, it was insane; she could not, she would not, relent.  
  
It was I who killed the Witchking. I have faced this evil before, and I will defeat it!  
  
Grasping the sword with two hands, she moved at him in a brilliant execution of sure thrusts. Her sword moved so fast that all she saw was a blur of silver, but she knew what she was doing. The orc could not react quickly enough to her blows, and instead raised his blade before himself in some sort of protection; she drove her sword into his chest, but it bounced off his armor as if nothing had perturbed it. He howled in range, and retaliated with strong blows.  
  
His advantage was size and strength; hers was wits and training. This was in no way a far fight, but she employed her quick thinking to duck and avoid his blows. She could almost sense where he would attempt next, and his frustration escalated as her fear plummeted. She agilely leaped from several clumsily placed strikes. The intensity increased with every blow; the air whistled and the ground shook. Her heart and breath, ragged with exhilaration, matched his heavy gulps of air.  
  
The climax of the battle came, and soon one was to lose. Eowyn acted too late to avoid one of his blows; it hit her shoulder, and pain ripped through her body. She screamed in agony, but took the opportunity to drive her sword into the orc's shoulder, where his skin was not protected by a makeshift iron plate. Her aim was true; the orc also howled in pain, and she pulled her sword out in triumph. She turned and ran, her sword dripping dark black blood onto the ground. Sheathing her sword as she ran, she held her shoulder in her hand. It felt as if it had been driven in two, and it was the same arm the Witchking had broken. She felt as if she had never felt such physical pain in her life, but she ran with determination and speed, though her lungs felt as if they might concave, and she felt as if she might collapse.  
  
Luthien came into view, and she saw Eldarion at the horse's feet, his eyes closed as if he had just fallen asleep. She reached the horse in seconds, and she roused Eldarion anxiously. Picking him up with her good arm, she pushed him onto the horse and quickly mounted Luthien. She pulled the reins backward and looked across the field, where she saw black figures rushing towards her across the grass.  
  
The sun was lowering into the west, and it burned her eyes in orange brilliance. She felt the heat on her face, and tears smarted from her eyes, her heart was wrought in two; her shoulder throbbed in pain but it was nothing to match the sudden agony she felt in her throat. Eldarion sat before her, and tears cascaded freely from his eyes, but she refused to cry. She reared Luthien, took one last look, and turned away, her eyes on the southeast, towards Rohan. Her heels dug into Luthien's flanks and the horse began to gallop over the hill. Eowyn fled, into the darkening sky. 


	7. Night of Turmoil

The stars shone brightly in the dark black sky. Luthien had galloped tirelessly through the night; Eldarion, exhausted, was sleeping in her lap; she could not sleep, and though her eyelids were heavy in want of it, she could not bring herself to. She was afraid of what might attack her in the early hours of the morning; she was afraid of what she might see if she were to close her eyes.  
  
"Promise me, that if anything should happen to me, you will look after my son."  
  
"Lady, that is granted, but nothing will happen to you."  
  
Eowyn jerked herself from her memories. Had Arwen known? Elves had the gift of foresight. The Queen could easily have seen her demise. How could she be such a fool, to accept such a charge without question? It was her fault the queen had died. If she had been more aware of the subtle intonations in the Queen's speech, if she had not been blinded by her affection and irrepressible jealousy, Arwen would still be alive.  
  
Why had Arwen made such an obvious effort to protect her? Why had Arwen not gone with Eldarion to pick flowers? She looked down at the boy's chubby hands, and made out a single flower. She halted the horse, and dismounted, pulling Eldarion from the saddle. Her shoulder winced in pain, but she couldn't care, she wouldn't care. She looked down at Eldarion's hand, and pulled the flower from his grasp.  
  
It was the poppy.  
  
Eowyn sat down in the grass, and held Eldarion tightly to her chest. She missed her child, and the small boy of five years was reminiscent of Theodwyn, so vulnerable, naïve and young...his cheeks were stained in dried tears. Eowyn felt her throat tighten. She did blame herself...how could she not?  
  
Where was she now? The lands were barely recognizable anymore, and everything seemed foreign. She was in Rohan, that she knew; and in the light she knew she would see the Great West Road stretching in front of her for miles. But how far away was Edoras? How far had she traveled? She was so tired...  
  
Eowyn lay down in the grasp. She heard Luthien collapse next to her, and she held Eldarion tightly in her arms, so that she could hear and feel his soft breathing. It was such a relief to be lying down...her eyes began to close, and finally a sweet sleep took her and the pain dissolved from her tired body...  
  
But she could not sleep. Not until she was safe, and Eldarion was away from harm. Reluctantly she pulled herself up, and Luthien stood awkwardly. She mounted, and was soon galloping into the empty night.  
  
* * *  
  
Edoras shone brightly in the morning light; an oasis as a red sun rose on the horizon, with thatched roofs and unpaved streets. Yet it had something the gleaming marble halls of Minas Tirith could never possess for her: the sense of familiarity, the knowing that she would be recognized and acknowledged...it felt almost if she was coming home, and the sight of the city burned her with relief, a rush of exhilaration after being weary for so long. Every moment felt as if it were a thousand hours, an excruciatingly long ride to the summit of the hill. Luthien could not ride fast enough, and the field stretched on endlessly, and she longed to be in her city...  
  
"Open the gates!" Someone cried from above her, and Luthien burst through them, up through the streets to the peak of the hill, past the wondering villagers, mounting the steps of the Great Hall in relief, finally halting at the doors of the building.  
  
Eowyn felt herself thrown forward as the horse stopped, and she leaned forward for a moment, grasping a breath. She dismounted wearily, and pulled Eldarion from the saddle. He was asleep still, and she placed him on the ground as she collapsed to her knees. The stone floor seemed to blur before her eyes.  
  
The doors were thrust open; out stepped a stately king, with fair colored hair and dark eyes, fitted in the robes of a king. He saw the woman and the boy, and it took a moment to grasp their identity.  
  
He rushed forward, taking off his cloak and placing it around her shoulders as a shield against the chilling, snappish wind. "Good god, Eowyn..." he pushed back the hair from her face. It was matted with sweat; her face was pale, and she barely looked alive.  
  
She opened her eyes faintly, and managed a weak smile.  
  
"Hello brother," she whispered, and the darkness took her. 


	8. Morning After

A dim light poured into her mind, prying her from a dreamless sleep, wrenching her from calm, and peace. Her second sensation was pain: it rushed through her body and her muscles throbbed. She wanted to cry out, but her throat was parched and dry. Her breathing was stilted. She felt miserable. It was dark in the room. She lay surrounded by dark wooden walls, above her stretched an intricately carved headboard depicting horses with probing black eyes, nightmarish and frightening. Her body lay in the midst of white sheets, yet she felt excruciatingly cold, and was sweating profusely. A blur beside her took shape.  
  
It was the queen of Rohan, Lothiriel, the wife her brother had took after the fall of Mordor, the fair daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth. She was a beautiful woman, and good, kind, virtuous...Eowyn couldn't tolerate her. It was her simplicity and her willingness to accommodate any requests that annoyed Eowyn.  
  
"My lady?" Lothiriel patted a damp cloth across Eowyn's forehead. Eowyn appreciated the gesture, and attempted a smile.  
  
She felt delusional, out of sync, not able to grasp his words. They almost felt foreign, and it took her mind several seconds to translate the meaning. Even then, she could not muster a reply.  
  
"We were worried. The King only just left your side, and asked me to attend to you."  
  
"Thank you," Eowyn replied hoarsely. She could barely speak. "My...brother..." she managed.  
  
"I will get him immediately, my lady."  
  
"Thank you, brother-wife," Eowyn closed her eyes.  
  
The door let in a strand of white light. It was at least midday. This had been the sick-room, Eowyn noted, where Theodred had spent his final days. It had been more than a decade since she had set foot in it. She remembered her days avoiding it, making excuses not to clean up the bed or sweep out the dust. Her brother had probably forgotten her hatred of this room, and carelessly housed her in it to recover.  
  
She heard his footsteps in the hall, and he swept into the room. Lothiriel stood in the doorway as Eomer walked towards Eowyn. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him. His beard was graying and his face was disturbed with wrinkles, but he looked the same as he always had. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, then reached for her hand as he sat in the chair next to her.  
  
"Oh, Eowyn," he said after a long silence. "I would you could tell me what happened, but you are in a great deal of pain. I sent two messengers to Minas Tirith."  
  
"And Eldarion?"  
  
"The boy is in good health physically, but I fear he is mentally disturbed. He lies in bed all day, looking at the wall. Elfwine would play with him, but Eldarion does nothing. The only words he has spoken since his arrival were demands to see you. When you came I thought Sauron had returned!" He tightened his grip on her hand. "You have been feverish for four days, two of which you were standing on some brink of death."  
  
She could say nothing. The squeeze had been painful.  
  
"What happened? Why did you come in such a state?" He asked.  
  
Eowyn let out a long, hissing breath. "It's a long story."  
  
"No, and it is ridiculous of me to interrogate you, in this state."  
  
"It is not ridiculous," Eowyn sighed, and her muscles screamed at her in pain. "For all you know, Sauron could still haunt our steps, like he does our minds."  
  
"You need water."  
  
"I need to tell you the tale. I only ask that I may see Eldarion, after I am finished, and that you send two more messengers to Minas Tirith, if you can spare them. The King deserves to know."  
  
It was an effort to speak, but the words soothed her.  
  
"Both are granted. Lothiriel," he gestured to his wife. "Give us a few moments. Bring the prince here at once, and ask the cooks if they can make some soup." He turned back to Eowyn. "And let me tell you, sister, they can make soup. Nothing like your improvisations."  
  
She laughed forcefully, and her ribs reprimanded her in pain. Eomer eased some pillows under her neck and raised her up so that she faced him. She opened her mouth to speak.  
  
The words came tumbling out. Her throat began to burn as she recounted Arwen's capture as Eldarion watched helplessly from atop the hill. When she finished, Eomer was looking resolutely at the ground, silent and solemn.  
  
"The King's wife is dead, then?" Eomer said finally.  
  
"Yes," Eowyn murmured.  
  
"It's a wonder how you made it out alive," Eomer looked up at her. "What are you to do, Eowyn?"  
  
"What do you mean, what am I to do?" Eowyn asked. Eomer said nothing. "You know what? I think I will have a drink of water. And then I will sleep. I am in no mood for ambiguous rhetorical questions."  
  
"It's not rhetorical," said Eomer softly. "You have harbored feelings for the King since he first entered the halls of Edoras."  
  
"It's been ten years, Eomer."  
  
"But your arm has never fully healed, Eowyn."  
  
"What exactly is your point?"  
  
"That feelings do not disappear entirely. Time only heals so much."  
  
"I am married, Eomer. I have a child."  
  
"Yes," Eomer turned away, and changed the subject. "I have not seen her for a long time. Is she much grown?"  
  
"Yes, and looks more like me than she ever has," Eowyn felt a flicker of happiness, talking of Theodwyn. It was comforting. "How is Elfwine?"  
  
"He has his mother's piety and my courage," Eomer said proudly.  
  
"What courage, brother?"  
  
"At least you can manage some humor," Eomer smiled and touched her forehead with his palm. "You're still feverish, but you are improving. You will recover soon, I hope."  
  
There were footsteps in the hall, and Lothiriel entered, encouraging Eldarion in. The boy paused at the entrance, and looked around the room wildly. Wordlessly he bounded across the room and onto the bed, throwing his arms around Eowyn.  
  
The pain was agonizing, but she held Eldarion tightly to her as he let out a muffled sob. She soothed him, talking into his hair, trying to assure him things were going to be all right. She heard the door shut, and the little boy and the woman were left along in the room, the only sound his muffled sobs and her soft whispers, and the echoes against the still walls.  
  
Author's very apologetic note:  
  
SO SO SO sorry for not updating for the past six hundred weeks or so. I have been very busy—term papers and other b.s. they put us through. I cannot WAIT until summer. But I hope you like the chapter—if you have anything to say, DO review, because it encourages me to write more. The more you review, the more I write. Deal? Heeheehee. Mother's Day is in thirty minutes! I'm on a sugarhigh right now. That's what eating an entire eight inch ice cream cake does to you. My suggestion is...don't.  
  
Thank yous to all my reviewers, for the praise and especially the helpful advice:  
  
JesusFreak, Lady Phedre, ladyhawke57 (reiterate the apology for not writing soon enough...hope you liked this one and sorry if I let you down), Lady Sezza (normality is more fun than stuck up Tolkein, as I've come to realize...), Leah (well, yes, Arwen had a feeling), Eregriel Gloswen (really enjoyed hearing your opinion, and thanks for the advice...namaste to you too), eowyn the fair (so sorry, but no author reveals their story, you should know that...), deedumdum (enjoyed hearing your rants and raves, they were enjoyable to read but I guess we don't agree on some points, therefore, CONTROVERSY! Which is always very fun), flipperjlw (glad I got you to like Arwen a lil' bit!), Starbrow (very thorough, thanks for advice and, as always, I love hearing peoples opinions), Aerlinnuial (thanks for reading), And finally, Mercury Gray! (my first review and I couldn't have been happier about it!)  
  
Thanks for all the support and everything, and keep reviewing! 


	9. An Awkward Meeting

"How is she?"  
  
The voice was deep and hoarse. It was the most beautiful sound she had heard for many days, so aching and familiar, it tormented her even in her waking dreams. Her mind was still blurred, and she could not grasp the meaning of the words, but they soothed her, somehow. Her heart began to beat faster under the soft white sheets. She kept silent, longing for the voice to speak again.  
  
"Alive. She woke up just two days ago. She's asked for you."  
  
"For me?"  
  
"Well, the boy has."  
  
"And is he in good health?"  
  
"He seems a bit perturbed by the events, and has clung to her as he would..." Her brother's voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.  
  
She opened her eyes.  
  
"There, she is awake. She has a fever, and it will be some time yet until she may travel, so says the physician, but she will recover," Eomer continued hurriedly.  
  
It was Aragorn. His face loomed over hers, and she held in a breath. His hair hung in soft curls; his eyes were a calm blue, like she imagined the sea would look. He looked terrible, grimy, and it reminded her of his older days as a ranger, fearless and brave and strong. But she still had to notice the wrinkles; the furrowed brow, the gaunt cheekbones, the deep circles under his eyes, contrasting to his white skin. He had grown old since she had last seen him. The news of Arwen's death had unsettled him.  
  
Aragorn sat down and grasped her hand in his. The touch sent a shock through her body. His hand was cold as ice, and his pale face frightened her.  
  
"Tell me it isn't true," he whispered.  
  
"What have you been told?"  
  
"Enough to know what fate has decided for me," he grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her towards him. She could feel his breath on her face. He leaned forward and his lips came ever closer to hers...  
  
Eowyn jolted awake. She was sweating again. She struggled to remember the dream. Closing her eyes, Aragorn's lips moved closer to hers...she shivered. It was the fever. It had to be the fever...  
  
Nevertheless, she could not go to sleep again. It was all too disturbing. She ached for her husband, she ached to see her daughter again. She refused to admit it to herself, but she wanted to see Aragorn, and she wanted him to be here that instant. She most certainly did not want him to kiss her.  
  
She reached for a shawl draped hastily over the chair at her bedside. Lothiriel had left it there, and it still smelled like the Queen, a soft, flowery, high-maintenance smell. She found herself randomly wondering what her scent was.  
  
Eowyn struggled out of the dark room and through the castle's dimly lit hallways. She made her way into the Great Hall and stopped abruptly.  
  
Aragorn and Eomer sat at a table, eating cheese and talking in hushed voices. Aragorn was the first to look up. He saw her, and his gaze was piercing. He was almost as she had imagined him in her dream—pale, with gaunt cheeks and bright blue eyes, and his face was just as grim. She felt her throat tighten.  
  
"Sister," Eomer said. He stood awkwardly, and walked towards her, grasping her hands. "You are not well. Go back to sleep..."  
  
She stared at him angrily. "I feel as if I could run, Eomer, even fly, and I will deem what I can or cannot do. But tell me, is it my fever or is the King Aragorn sitting at the table eating gorgonzola?"  
  
"I am indeed here, my lady," said the King softly. He stood, and slowly walked across the room. "This is no dream. I have come to Edoras, but to bad tidings, as Eomer has detailed." Eomer stepped back and turned his head away. Aragorn was looking right into her eyes. She could not break the gaze.  
  
"I have been informed my wife is dead. Is this true?" He asked quietly.  
  
She had to turn away. The intensity of the gaze was too intense for her to handle. "Yes, my lord," she could barely hear herself.  
  
There was a long silence. When she lifted her head Aragorn had turned away. "I feared so much was true. I was almost hoping you were delirious."  
  
There was another very awkward silence.  
  
"Excuse me, King," Eowyn murmured, "If you will pardon my interrogation, but...where is my husband?"  
  
"He is absorbed with affairs of state. He begged to let me come, but I ordered him to stay at home. Theodwyn needed comfort. She was in the room, when the messenger came," his voice wavered, but did not falter. "We only heard that the Lady Eowyn and the Prince Eldarion had arrived at Edoras, but alone and harmed. Within an hour I was on my way. I could not have imagined..." He turned around. "An ambush?"  
  
Eowyn nodded.  
  
"Orcs?"  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
He looked to Eomer. "Something must be done about this. We cannot have them along our borders. We presumed they had been killed when the Dark Lord fell, but we were wrong. We will not make that presumption again.  
  
"The hour is late. I will need a bed."  
  
"I will speak with Lothiriel," Eomer said, and he swept from the room.  
  
Neither Eowyn nor Aragorn could look at each other. Finally, Aragorn spoke.  
  
"I loved her, Eowyn," it was a sad, remorseful voice: the first open sign of emotion from him.  
  
"I do not doubt it, King," Eowyn said softly. "She was good and kind, and beautiful..."  
  
She trailed off, her eyes averted to the ground. When she looked up, he was staring at her. She almost thought she saw a glimmer of tears in his eye, but no sooner had she noticed it than it was gone.  
  
"You are still feverish. It is past midnight. Go to bed."  
  
It was an order. She turned, and fled. 


	10. Misstep

It was a cold morning. The cold was piercing, and she tried to melt into the covers to keep warm, but even under woolen blankets, her hands were icy cold. She finally stood up in frustration, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, and clamped her teeth firmly together to prevent them from chattering.  
  
She strode into the Great Hall. Lothiriel sat on a bench watching two boys circling each other, wooden swords in hand. The taller one was Elfwine; she recognized the golden curls and joyous features as her brothers. The younger, she could not identify. One of the village boys perhaps, she thought, as she walked towards her sister-in-law.  
  
"Eowyn," Lothiriel said warmly, standing up to embrace her. Eowyn felt uncomfortable in the woman's arms, but nevertheless returned the gesture.  
  
"We hoped you would wake."  
  
"Come here, Elfwine. Let me take a good look at you," Eowyn bent down on the floor as Elfwine ran over to her and stopped abruptly.  
  
"Good morning, Aunt," Elfwine said politely. Eowyn pushed his hair behind his ears, and poked his arm.  
  
"You've grown strong, nephew," Eowyn said, standing up. She pushed him back towards his friend.  
  
"He looks more like his father every day," Lothiriel said proudly, admiring him. She turned back to Eowyn and smiled.  
  
"Where is my brother?" Eowyn tried to ask as kindly as possible, but she was irritated by the cold and slightly snappish.  
  
Lothiriel looked away, and turned to her son, who stood watching them with playing with his companion. "He went hunting. He was restless, I think. He has not left here since you came."  
  
"And the King Aragorn?"  
  
"Solitary, in his room. I do not know if he has woken yet."  
  
"Is there no word when we shall return to Minas Tirith?"  
  
"No, my Lady. I have heard none, but my husband thinks you should stay here until you are fully recovered..."  
  
"I am fully recovered," Eowyn retaliated angrily. "Perhaps you are mistaking me for my mare. She did the majority of the running, and it is her we need be concerned about."  
  
Lothiriel looked at her, hurt and slightly confused by Eowyn's outburst. "My lady, we fed her the best oats and water and she has been faring as well as any other of our stable horses..."  
  
"Thank you, Queen," Eowyn interrupted. "I think I shall go take her out. She needs her exercise."  
  
"My Lady," Lothiriel said pleadingly, "your brother said that you should stay indoors today. It is cold, and we cannot risk..."  
  
"I will be fine! Cease your fussing over me as if I were a child!"  
  
"It is true, Lady Eowyn. You should stay."  
  
Eowyn whirled around and saw Aragorn standing in the threshold of the doorway. She could say nothing.  
  
"It is for your health, and no other reason."  
  
She swallowed, and tightened her throat resolutely. "My health?"  
  
"Yes, my Lady," Aragorn said patiently.  
  
"I am fit to deem my health, King," Eowyn said, trying not to humiliate herself with some explosion of willfulness.  
  
"It is safer if you stay inside. It is a cold day."  
  
"Please let me go, Aragorn," Eowyn begged. It was the first time she had called him Aragorn for ten years, and it troubled her.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "I entreat you, Lady, please..."  
  
"You would have let Arwen go!" Eowyn exclaimed. She heard a gasp from behind her, and she turned back and saw Lothiriel's hand fly to her mouth. She turned her face sideways, too humiliated to look at Aragorn.  
  
There was a deathly silence. Finally, Aragorn spoke. "You fear a cage, Lady, and I will not confine you to it," he said softly. "Here, take this," he took a few steps forward hesitantly and draped a warm cloak around her shoulders. She shivered as his fingers brushed her back, and the touch lingered on her skin long after he had retreated from the room.  
  
Nearly shaking, she pinned it in the front. It was a fine green material, elven in quality, and the brooch was in the shape of a leaf. It was warm to the touch. She draped the hood over her head and strode past a gaping Lothiriel and her befuddled son and young friend as she threw open the doors and quickly walked down the steps into the winter sunlight. 


	11. Battling Inner Demons

Luthein did not look in the best of health, so Eowyn spent a few minutes stroking the mare softly, feeding her the carrot she had brought. With a final pat on the muzzle, Eowyn explored the stable for a capable horse.  
  
She expected many, but none met her approval. She was being peculiarly choosy today, for no particular reason. She wasn't in the best of dispositions, and she felt guilty and ashamed. There were no horses that could comfort her in the way she wanted, and she passed by mare and stallion without any interest, dismissive and slightly frustrated by her fruitless attempts. Acknowledging the empty stalls, she counted how many were on the hunt and missing. Five and twenty men, five and twenty stalls empty. She heard a restless neigh from the end of the long hall, and approached it in curiosity.  
  
The last stalls were reserved for the king and his companions; obviously one had not accompanied him. She sucked in a breath as she viewed the stall, recognizing the horse instantly. It was the King Aragorn's; Brego, the horse of her deceased cousin who had taken an uncanny liking to the ranger from the north. She remembered their encounter, many years before. She had been enthralled with his voice as he wooed the horse from madness to calm, the elvish words spilling from his tongue as if magic. She had known no man with such a skill with horses, no man in Rohan seemed to have the influence that Aragorn had had on that day. Aragorn had ridden Brego faithfully since, and Brego would have none other.  
  
For a moment she felt beckoned to defiance, to mount the stallion and ride him. She stepped forward and the horse did so as well, laying his fine nose in the hand. She reached up and patted the stallion on the back, grasping the loose hairs. Resignation took over; she stepped back and turned away, unwilling to acknowledge her sudden lack of courage. Perhaps it was sacrilegious to ride the horse. Once she thought better of it, it appeared a poor choice and a lack of judgment on her part.  
  
In the end, she chose a strong-looking, eager stallion, but only out of pity. Though he looked like a fine horse, he was so set on being ridden it appeared he would tear the stall down. She put a blanket over him and put on his reins, and they were off.  
  
Down the hill she galloped, her hair swirling out behind her. She realized she had forgot to pin it, and sighed. When she reached the main gates, she reared the stallion to a halt. He breathed heavily, impatiently, willing and eager to go.  
  
"Who goes there?" Cried a watchman.  
  
"It is Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, sister of the King. Open the gates!" She called hoarsely, watching her breath dissipate into the air.  
  
"What is your purpose, Lady Eowyn?"  
  
"A morning ride!" Was there need of such frivolity? She pulled the horse's reins back as he sought to move forward again. Her patience was tiring.  
  
A man stepped down from the tower and made his way toward her. He had a tawny beard and his hair was wild, with a ruddy face and deep-set gray eyes. He was wearing the traditional uniform of a Rohan horseman. Far from intimidating, the man had a friendly look about him.  
  
"Word in Edoras is that the White Lady is deathly ill," he said, grinning. "By the looks of you, it seems castle gossip."  
  
"I assure you, it is," she replied. "Am I not to be let out of my own city?"  
  
"Far from your own anymore, isn't it, Lady? Word has it you married the steward of Gondor, the Lord Faramir, is it?...and that you reside in Minas Tirith, and you have no need for the primitive lifestyle of the Rohirrim."  
  
"Well, I had not heard it put that way," Eowyn said, smiling. "I indeed have married the Lord Faramir, and reside in Minas Tirith, but the ways of my people are still vital to my very existence."  
  
"Aptly put, my Lady," the man said amiably. "But if that is true, is it also correct that the Queen of Gondor is dead, and the King is in the Golden Hall presently, with his son? I have heard many tales, ever since you came with the boy in that state."  
  
Eowyn sighed. She did not want to begin any rumors, but she felt obligated to tell the man that what he had heard was true. "The Queen of Gondor is missing, and the King is trying to sort through the mess. Yes, indeed, he is in the Golden Hall, with the young prince."  
  
"Word also has it that he did not come for his son, but to see you. There is the rumor of a romance between the both of you, ten years ago, and that you have hated the Queen Evenstar ever since."  
  
Eowyn felt a chill descend over her body. "Is this the cause of the interference with my morning ride? To parley of silly rumors begotten from silly maids of the House of Eorl?"  
  
"No offense meant, Lady," the man stepped back, slightly perturbed. "I did not believe it, I was just teasing you..."  
  
"Then I advise you not to tease some one of higher rank," she replied coldly. "Cease this hindrance. Open the gates."  
  
"Of course, my Lady," the ruddy man winked with a smile, and ran back.  
  
The wink infuriated her even more. The stallion, feeling her disturbance, neighed impatiently. The gates swung open in due time, and Eowyn burst forth. The air whipped her face with its icy hand as she emerged into the valley.  
  
Of course rumors had sprung, their small flames no doubt kindled by her own ambitions. Yes, she was forced to admit it, she had loved Aragorn, and wanted him passionately. As a young girl at the time, she had no idea what love was, and when it had hit her it seemed too powerful and too overwhelming to be passed by. He had been eighty seven; she had been a teenager. She had known nothing of Arwen Undomiel, his betrothed, who had wandered Middle Earth for several millennia. Arwen could give him what Eowyn could not: the sacrifice of her own immortality, but Eowyn had no idea of this. Her frustrated attempts for him to acknowledge her had driven her near mad, but there had been something there...or maybe it was an illusion of some sort, a strange mirage in her being. He was the oasis after the long, empty stretch of desert that Grima had presented to her in witchcraft.  
  
Aragorn had saved her from the evil man, and she had loved him for it. When she stole glances at him, she had imprinted his every feature in her mind. She thought she had caught him glancing at her as well, and it was probably pity, but then she had taken it for a mutual feeling of love. What a fool she had been, but it did not seem to be only her. Theoden had encouraged it...he had seemed to notice the tension, the attraction, and he had enjoyed seeing her happy. With his approval, everything could have been perfect. Aragorn had let her be herself, appreciated her feelings of being caught, appreciated her willingness for glory. When he refused her, she had known no greater sorrow. It was as if part of her had died...as it was when Theodred died, and later, when she saw Theoden's crushed body and wept. It had been one of her motivations to ride out with the Rohirrim on the Pelennor Fields. She had proved herself, however—proved who she was, and what she was capable of. Merry had helped her—she did owe it to him, but it was her thrust of the sword that had saved them all from the Witchking. He would have wrought greater evils if she had not been there that day.  
  
Yet still she had been denied. Her arm was permanently damaged, yet she had worked tirelessly to bring it back to an acceptable shape. She was forced to stay behind by Aragorn, to stand and watch as the heroes left for the final battle against Sauron. She had not been there to watch Barad-Dur fall, or Sauron's demise, or know that Frodo and Sam had survived the peril of Mordor. She had only sat in calm orchards, inexorable fear swelling in her heart, as she waited for a tide of Orcs to reclaim Minas Tirith in ultimate doom or the return of the victorious king. It was in those weeks she had given up everything she had wanted for, her willingness for glory subsiding as she took on the role of virtuous housewife. She had condemned herself to the very fate she had hoped to avoid. Good god, she had hoped to avoid it. Now her life was intertwined with restless and lost woman. She could not turn back now. She had a child to raise and a role to live up to as Faramir's wife.  
  
Dear, dear Faramir. He had loved her so much. She had no bad feelings towards him, but she was not infatuated with him either. She was happy in his presence, as long as Aragorn was not there to remind her of all her other feelings. Faramir was a good man, and she did love him, in a different way—as a friend and companion, and sometimes in desire. But with Aragorn the feeling was overwhelming, almost impossibly so. Whenever in his presence she felt beckoned by some strange force of lust, and at the same time pulled back by guilt. She could not be around Aragorn anymore, or she would be driven mad. The path she had chosen did not give her any room to stray away from being a dutiful wife and mother, and though the knowledge infuriated her, she was forced to admit it was true.  
  
The only thing Theoden had asked of her was to smile again. And she had, in her marriage to Faramir—it was a sense of utter tranquillity that calmed her soul and smoothed over her wild impulses. For a few years it was almost as if she could be around Aragorn and feel nothing. She had smiled again, but now the smile was disappearing from her face. Haunted by inner demons and cursed by memories, a darkness was swelling around her, and she felt threatened by an imminent loss of sanity.  
  
She had been riding nowhere, neither encouraging the horse nor directing it, and now a sense of purpose came over her—there was something she needed to do. She reared the stallion, and galloped into the other direction, toward the funeral mounds. She needed to pay someone a special visit. For once, the voice of the dead might be of some comfort to her.  
  
The funeral mounds looked exactly the same as they always had from afar; too strategically placed to be naturally occurring, too covered in Symblemyne to be regular mounds. She had always loved Symblemyne, even as a little girl. When Theoden had seen her weaving the delicate white flower in her braids, he had told her, "Yes, daughter, they suit you. You truly are our White Lady of Rohan—pale, cold, distant, Symblemyne in your golden hair." The title had followed her ever since. Later, when Eowyn had learned the white flower's connotation with death and funeral mounds, she had abandoned it. She had also stopped coming to the funeral mounds, because it reminded her of her father, and her mother, who she had barely known. The mounds symbolized her ancestry, the dead and deceased, and these haunted her incessantly. Eowyn noted the few occasions she had come back, out of duty and reverence: her last three trips had included visiting the mounds...she had sung here, at Theodred's funeral, the harsh wind burning her eyes and its unspilt tears, and Theoden had been buried here. Theoden was the King, and this was his Place—she had insisted upon his burial here, not on some foreign soil.  
  
Lost in thoughts, she dismounted, and stared at the cold grey stone. Symblemyne climbed up its sides, perching on top, moving gently in the wind. Whispers and songs hung in the air about her, left unspoken and unsung, haunting memories. She bent and picked one of the white flowers, and stared at it. How could it be so simple and beautiful, so cool to the touch? How could something as mild and tangible as this signify so much? She dropped it, and knelt, and stared, disoriented. Time seemed to stall.  
  
"Uncle..." She breathed in hesitantly. It was hopeless, speaking to the dead. "Can you not see my face?" She looked up to the sky, biting back tears. "I am not smiling."  
  
There was no response; she had expected none.  
  
"I have failed you," a tear forced itself from her eye, ebbing its fall down her face. "And it pains me. Will you not forgive me?"  
  
Did the dead even hear their voices?  
  
"I am lost. I do not know what to do. Is there nowhere left for me to go? Is there nothing more for me to do? Will I ever find peace?"  
  
The unearthly silence was agonizing.  
  
"Will you not forgive me?" She cried, and sobs, unbidden, escaped from her lips. She fell upon the ground, and let herself cry, offering herself no restraint.  
  
When she was done, the wind still blew cold against her face, and in the air, all around her, hung the unsung songs and unspoken whispers. She wiped the tears from her face, and felt no shame. No voice had spoken to her in her misery, but for her own. The dead did not consult with the living: it was not in their class. Her own voice had consoled her, her own sanity had shown forth. No sudden epiphany, however—no great beckoning from the gods. It was still cold. Yet for the time, she was peaceful, and knew her immediate purpose. She mounted the horse, and galloped away, and silenced her argumentative daemons. 


	12. War Mongering

"Your move, Aragorn."

There was a tense silence; the man's steady eyes did not lift from his focus, neither did he show any unrest at the obvious advantage. He waited, quietly, his mind sorting out the uneven puzzle of the chessboard.

"Have you lost, Father?" Asked Eldarion indignantly.

It was the first reasonably merry thing the boy had uttered within the past week; Lothiriel looked at him in undisguised surprise, and Eomer reached out his hands towards Eldarion.

"Come here," he said gruffly, but the boy crossed his arms and shook his head. "See your father's expression? He's unraveling my secrets with his mind. He's thinking. With this," he tapped his own forehead. "But to no avail. You'd better side with me in this one, son, because it looks like your father's lost."

"It's not about winning," Lothiriel said with a smile. "Don't put those thoughts in his head, Eomer."

"I meant no harm," Eomer replied, lifting his hands up.

"My father's going to beat yours," Elfwine said braggingly.

"Llie n'vanima ar' lle atara lanneina," Eldarion snapped back.

"Eldarion," Aragorn finally looked up from the chessboard. "That wasn't very kind."

"What did that mean!" Elfwine whined.

"It's time for you to go to sleep, Elfwine," Lothiriel cut in gracefully.

"_Mother_," Elfwine whined again.

"Say goodnight to your father, and the King and the young Prince."

"You promised to let me stay here until Eowyn came back!" Elfwine cried again.

"Come," Lothiriel said, passing Elfwine off to a maid who had stepped in on cue. "You too, Eldarion." She expected more resistance from the latter, but none came, and she kissed him on the cheek, more grateful than she would admit.

"Where is my sister?" Eomer asked, once the door had closed.

"She wanted to go for a ride, and was in no temperament to be stopped," Aragorn said.

"She is not healthy enough…"

"Eomer, let her do as she pleases. She would not be persuaded against it."

"You had no right…"

"I had no right to stop her," Aragorn replied.

"Has she come back?" Eomer asked his wife.

"No one has seen here since this morning," Lothiriel replied helplessly.

"For good reason," said a voice from the door. "I have not been here."

"Sister!" Eomer said, standing up.

"Brother," Eowyn replied, not nearly as excited as her brother was. "I need to speak with you."

"Concerning?"

"There is a need for war again."

"Sister, calm yourself. There is no need for war…"

"A Queen has just been killed. Is this no need for war? You've had too much to drink, brother, or my words would sound more clear."

"The King has reason, Lady," Aragorn said. "You demand war, but against what? Against whom?"

Eowyn felt her tongue catch in her throat. "Those were orcs, King. There are still many of them left, no doubt holding resentment, who better to kill than the wife of their enemy?"

"What are you saying?" Lothiriel asked.

"That the threat now may be just as dire as it ever had been. There could be forces massing in Mordor. The land has been left unchecked, left to those monsters…" She paused. "I am saying there could be another Sauron."

"There is no chance of it. There is no ring," Eomer said.

"How can you not see the possibility?" Eowyn said, completely taken aback at the response to her suggestion. "There is no ring? Rings don't matter. Numbers do. There are as many orcs as there are men in Rohan and Gondor combined. That is a formidable foe! Ring or no ring, that could pose a serious threat."

"Orcs have no organization, Eowyn."

"If they are leaderless, there is no threat. But if there is such a leader…"

"And who would that be, Eowyn? Who in…"

"The possibility exists. If people sided with Sauron, they will do it again. And we are helpless. With the elves and wizards gone, it is man against orc now."

"You are jumping to conclusions, Eowyn…"

"Those orcs were in the middle of our land. There is no possible way this was a coincidence."

"It is not wise to assume things we do not know," Aragorn said finally.

There was a silence.

"This is a day I thought I would never see," Eowyn said. "The men sit and play chess like cowards while the woman thirsts for battle."

"We are not cowards, Lady. I would think that you had seen too much war in your lifetime to jump so easily at the opportunity for another. Do you want another battle, Eowyn?"

"I want justice," Eowyn replied. "Whatever it takes."

"Are you willing to pay for justice with your life?"

"Yes."

"And your daughter, and husband?"

She felt as if she had been stabbed somewhere in the gut, and suddenly felt her entire argument dissolve in front of her eyes. She longed to go home, and see Faramir, and her daughter. Theodwyn must have grown much by this time…was she willing to desert them?

"I will do what I must," Eowyn felt the words tumble from her mouth. She despised them, but they lay in the air like a curse she regretted having spoken.

"I am advising you against, haste, Lady. I watched, and I waited, until the last possible minute, to make my move. I fought in my mind before on land, and I won."

Eowyn crossed her arms. "Then I will go alone."

"Eowyn, you're mad," Eomer said in protest.

"I will go alone into Mordor.," she repeated.

Another long, long silence. Eomer opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words, and Eowyn waited quietly for someone—anyone—to challenge her. No one did.

Aragorn moved his knight on the chessboard and stood up. "Check mate, Eomer. I will see you all in the morning."


End file.
